Wonderwall
by TheaJ1
Summary: Remember that episode in S7 where Mac let it slip to Sturgis that she was in love with Harm? Here is what happens when he breaks his promise to keep it a secret.
1. Chapter 1 1

**A/N: This piece was written as a birthday fic for AvaniHeath and she convinced me to share it with you. Story will be up completely by tonight. Also, for those of you who read my on-going JAG fic "The Ties That Bind"—I'm uploading a new chapter of that today as well.**

**Enjoy!**

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**Title and lyrics are from "Wonderwall" by Oasis.**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

_C_HAPTER ONE

_Today is gonna be the day_

_That they're gonna throw it back to you_

_By now you should've somehow_

_Realised what you gotta do_

Wonderwall, Oasis

* * *

I

Walking into McMurphy's tonight, Harm had intended to get drunk.

His day had been particularly awful—he'd spectacularly lost in court, then gotten into an argument about it with Mac afterwards. Arguing seemed to be all they were doing lately, normal conversation impossible. He knew that it didn't have to be this way, but he couldn't help himself. He just reacted, responding with a biting—and sometimes hurtful—remark when he should have kept his mouth shut, allowing her to push his buttons and pushing hers in return. He was aware of what he was doing, but he seemed unable to stop.

He readily admitted that he wasn't handling this situation—this twisted and awkward situation—very well. And still… Since Mac's return from the LHA things had been tense. More so than usual. But there was nothing he could do to fix it. It had to run its course, and he hoped that their friendship would survive. It wasn't like they hadn't hit a bump in the road before; this time it was just taking them a bit longer to get past it. They both had to figure things out for themselves, Mac probably more than he did.

_Friendship_, he thought bitterly as he raised his glass to his lips. Was that all they were ever going to be? Friends?

"So?" Sturgis asked, eyebrows lifted expectantly.

Harm drained his glass and put it down with a soft _clink_. Sturgis had a way of approaching things had-on; he wasn't one to beat around the bush. Harm, who lived in a world where worlds were routinely turned and twisted until you couldn't be sure anymore what they meant, normally found that refreshing; it was one of the things he liked about Sturgis.

Tonight, however, he didn't. Mac wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss. Not even with a friend.

"I'll have another beer," Harm said when the waitress passed their table, holding an empty tray. She gave him a quick smile and a cheerful, "Coming right up!" before she was off again, disappearing into the crowd.

"There's some tension," he admitted finally, in response to what Sturgis had said earlier.

_There's tension between you and Mac_.

Really?

"I haven't slept with her though," he added, not quite sure what compelled him to say it.

For some reason, Sturgis seemed to find this amusing; his lips twitched. "Maybe that's the problem," he replied.

"There is no problem."

This thing with him and Mac wasn't about sex. Never had been. And sleeping with her would only complicate things further. Besides, he didn't want that. Casual relationships were the ones he preferred because they meant that he didn't have to commit. But with Mac, he wanted more than that. He _wanted_ to commit, but he couldn't.

Not yet.

_Is that how long we're going to wait?_

Eternity.

What was he waiting for?

"There is no problem," Harm repeated.

Sturgis didn't look convinced.

His beer came, and Sturgis watched him drink for a minute, then said, "I just want to understand what's going on."

"You and me both," Harm muttered. How could he possibly explain to Sturgis something he himself didn't quite grasp?

"Are you in love with her?" Sturgis asked suddenly, blunt and straightforward as always.

Harm stared at him. "What kind of question is that?" he managed eventually, his mouth dry.

_Where did that come from?_

He closed his hand around the glass, his knuckles straining white against his skin.

If Sturgis noticed his sudden tension, he didn't let on. "A simple yes or no question."

"There's nothing simple about that question," Harm snapped. He flagged the waitress down for another beer. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning, but at the moment he didn't give a damn. Why couldn't Sturgis just go away and leave him in peace? "And I'm not having this conversation with you," he added sharply. "Not now. Not ever. Mac is off-limits. We clear?"

"I think you've had too much to drink," Sturgis replied quietly.

Harm glared into his glass. _Damn it! _He ran his hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired.

_You're an arrogant bastard_, Mac had said to him this afternoon.

It wasn't by far the worst insult he'd ever heard, but coming from her, it had hurt. Mostly because she was right.

He'd insulted her first, unable to accept that she'd done a good job, which she had. Looking at it objectively, he could see that. Subjectively, however, his ego bruised from taking a beating, not so much.

"Damn it," he whispered.

"You know, talking to her might help," Sturgis suggested, in a quiet voice. "Oh, come on, Harm," he said when Harm stared at him. "I've seen you with plenty of women, but this," he gestured at him, "isn't something I've ever seen before. You're in love with her. Just tell her how you feel."

He'd also forgotten how observant Sturgis was. "It's a little more complicated than that," he grit out.

"It doesn't look that complicated to me," Sturgis said.

Harm clenched his fists.

"If you just talked to her—"

"She knows!" Harm said, his voice raised; people in his general vicinity turned their heads in his direction, curious. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he counted to ten in his head. "She knows," he repeated, more quietly. He'd never said the actual words to her, but he knew that she knew.

But it wasn't enough. Too much had happened. If he went to her, if he finally figured out how to cut that lifeline Mac had accused him of clinging to and was ready to commit, would she take him? Or had they already moved past that point where that kind of relationship was possible?

That was what he was afraid of—that she had already moved on. That what he kept thinking of as a bump in the road they'd eventually get past was something far more serious that heralded the end of their friendship.

For some reason, Sturgis seemed surprised by his answer. Frowning, he took a sip of his own drink, then shook his head, somewhat incredulous. "She does?"

"Yeah." Harm sighed. "She does." He glanced down; his glass was empty, but he couldn't remember draining it, which probably meant that he'd had enough. As the thought crossed his mind, the alcohol started to make itself felt; his vision went blurry, his arms suddenly heavy as lead.

_Coming here was a bad idea_, he thought wearily. If he'd known he'd run into Sturgis, he would have stayed at home.

"Well," Sturgis said after a moment, "that explains a lot."

"Explains what?"

Sturgis shook his head, his eyebrows knit together, absently tapping his fingers on the edge of the table; he seemed to be warring with himself, but over what Harm had no idea. Finally, he sat back, a serious expression on his face. "I'm going to tell you something that I promised I would keep to myself," he said quietly.

"Okay." Harm found himself sitting up straighter, intrigued. The sudden change of subject confused him; he couldn't fathom what this had to do with Mac. But perhaps it didn't. He hoped so—he didn't want to talk about her anymore.

He had no such luck.

"You do know that Mac's in love with you too, right?"

Harm sighed. "I want to believe that," he admitted, running his finger over the rim of his empty glass. "And there was a time when she was. But now…" He trailed off as the memory of their argument resurfaced. "You saw what happened today."

Everyone had seen. And heard. After Mac's—completely justified—remark, things had gone downhill; they'd started yelling at each other, and things would probably have escalated completely if Bud hadn't interrupted them. But judging by the looks on people's faces when he'd walked to the elevator afterwards, they'd heard.

They'd argued before, but not like this, and it made him think that perhaps it was too late, that even their friendship couldn't be salvaged.

"I did," Sturgis replied, "but I wasn't asking a hypothetical question. She's in love with you. She told me."

Harm stared at him, incredulous. "Why would she tell _you_?"

Sturgis shrugged. "She didn't mean to. It just slipped out."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harm asked tonelessly. "If she made you promise to keep it a secret, then she obviously doesn't want me to know."

But hadn't he known all along? _No_, he corrected himself. He'd only suspected, and then things had changed between them, causing him to believe that she had moved on, that she had slipped out of his reach for good. That he was deluding himself into believing that there was still a chance to set things right only because he couldn't face the bitter truth.

Suspecting and knowing, he suddenly realised, were two very different things.

"No," Sturgis agreed, "she doesn't. What I don't get is why. Why do you keep making yourselves miserable?"

"I'm not," Harm replied, irritated.

Sturgis looked pointedly at the empty glass in front of him. "Really? Then why are you sitting here, getting drunk?"

Harm stared at the table, his jaw set.

"You know what I think? I think that both of you are afraid to take the first step. Afraid to commit. Now, I don't know about the colonel, but you've never committed easily, Harm. You always tried to keep it casual."

_Yeah, I do that, don't I?_ But he'd learned early on not to let people in, to keep them at arm's length so that when they left, it wouldn't hurt so much. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Mac, but if things didn't work out because he screwed up, because he couldn't give her what she wanted and needed and, above all else, deserved, he would. And if he committed to her, if he let go of his lifeline and she wasn't there to catch him, then where would that leave him?

"You know what I always found strange about you?" Sturgis asked after a moment.

Harm didn't look up. "What?"

"That as a pilot you took chances all the time. But where your personal life is concerned, you're so much in control that it's painful to watch. You'd rather be unhappy, or at least not as happy as you could be, than take a risk."

_If you lose control in my world, you die_.

And what world was that, exactly? The world of law books and court rooms?

"Life is all about risks, Harm. About taking chances." Sturgis rubbed his chin. "And Harm, do you honestly think she'll wait for you forever? Eventually, she'll decide that she's had enough and find a way to move on."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Harm admitted.

And yet… And yet…

"Just think about what you could have," Sturgis said. He got up and reached into his pocket, tossing a handful of bills on the table. "It might be worth the risk."


	2. Chapter 1 2

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

II

_It might be worth the risk._

Getting out of the cab, Harm glanced up at Mac's apartment. Her windows were dark, which didn't surprise them. It was three in the morning; it had taken him four hours and about two gallons of coffee and water to sober up enough for him to do this.

However, he could still feel the effect of the alcohol in his body; he was light-headed and he had a headache coming on. Showing up on Mac's doorstep with a hangover was by far the worst idea he'd ever had—and that was saying quite a lot—but he was afraid that he'd lose his nerve if he waited any longer.

And if he didn't do this now, he never might.

_You keep making simple things too complicated._

Mac was right.

Sometimes things were just as simple and straightforward as they seemed, but he had a habit of twisting and turning them in his head until even he couldn't untangle them. He couldn't _not_ consider the consequences of his actions.

_Yeah, and I bet you thought of the consequences when you fired that gun in the court room._

No. No, it was only his personal life where he did that.

And wrong again.

He hadn't thought about the consequences of going to Russia. No, he'd followed his emotions. He always had.

And yet where Mac was concerned he couldn't.

Couldn't let go of his lifeline.

_Let go of it before it becomes a noose_.

But how? How could he just stop doing what had been instinctive for him for as long as he remembered? Deep down, he knew that he no longer needed it. He already had changed; going away, joining a squadron, had proven that he had. That his priorities were different now.

And yet he held on to it.

_Life is all about risks_.

Harm knew that, intellectually at least. Mac had been willing to take a risk; she'd wanted to be with him, regardless of the consequences. But he'd pushed her away, convinced he wasn't ready.

_Was there ever a time when you were ready for something? _he wondered as the cab pulled away. Life never stayed the same; the moment he managed to adapt, it had already changed.

He started towards the building, his steps echoing in the silence of the morning.

He knew there was a chance she'd send him away, or wouldn't believe that he'd made up his mind. He'd rejected her once; he'd understand if she was reluctant to welcome him into her arms. And he also knew that she was still hurting, that she still wasn't completely over her last relationship, and the way it had ended.

If she needed more time, he'd give it to her.

But Sturgis was right. If he went on like this, he risked losing her forever. She didn't even have to meet, and fall in love with, someone else for that—they might get stationed at opposite ends of the world, and then he'd never see her again.

He couldn't lose her.


	3. Chapter 2 1

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**_  
_

* * *

_C_HAPTER TWO

_Backbeat the word was on the street_

_That the fire in your heart is out_

_I'm sure you've heard it all before_

_But you never really had a doubt_

Wonderwall, Oasis

I

* * *

The knocking wouldn't stop.

"Go away," Mac groaned into her pillow as she pulled the blanket over her head. If she pretended to be asleep, then perhaps whoever it was would just give up and go away. Three in the morning wasn't the time for social calls anyway, and she didn't want to get up; she had only just fallen asleep, after tossing and turning for hours.

She'd been doing that a lot lately.

But her visitor was persistent.

She dragged herself up and fumbled for the light switch, her mind sluggish, her thoughts incoherent. She needed sleep. Badly.

The lights came on, and Mac blinked into the sudden brightness, disoriented. She was so tired. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept for more than two or three hours. It was beginning to show; she was constantly irritated, always on edge.

And the way she'd snapped at Harm today…

God, he'd pushed her! But it was still no excuse for how she'd acted, for what she'd said. Of course, they'd fought right from the start, and normally she enjoyed their arguments. Today, however, had been different; she'd attacked him on a personal level, and because she knew him so well, she also knew how she could hurt him.

And she had.

_You're an arrogant bastard_.

The insult had hit home; for a second, hurt had flashed up in his eyes, and she'd wanted to take it back—but she never got the chance. He'd started yelling, she'd yelled back and one word had led to another. No unforgivable things had been said, but if Bud hadn't shown up when he did, they might have been, and that scared her. She didn't want things between her and Harm to be like this. She wanted to go back to the way things were before her life had crumbled around her like a house of cards, but she feared this was impossible. So much had happened.

Too much, perhaps.

_Knock knock knock_.

"Right," Mac muttered. Pushing the memory away, she stumbled out of bed, shivering in her thin camisole. She grabbed the first piece of clothing that came into her hands—a red silk kimono—and slipped into it, the fabric cool on her skin. Fastening the belt, she headed to the door. Goosebumps rose on her bare legs as cold air that smelled of rain brushed against her and made her shiver; she must have left a window open.

_Knock knock knock._

"I'm coming," she called, irritated, her voice thick with sleep. Whoever it was had better had a damn good reason for waking her this early.

She looked through the peephole, and surprise wiped her mind for a moment.

Harm.

She stepped back, uncertain, hugging her arms to her chest.

She didn't want to talk to him right now. And she didn't want him in her home, her safe haven. The one place where she didn't have to pretend and could just be. Where nobody watched her, nobody judged her.

Still, she opened the door.

_What do you want?_

The words were already on the tip of her tongue, harsh and bitter, but when she looked at him, saw his expression, she couldn't bring herself to say them. She didn't know what to make of the look on his face, and the strange determination in his grey eyes.

"Hey," he said, his voice hoarse. "Sorry I woke you."

Something about the hesitant smile he gave her was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Mac stared at him. Looked at the way he held himself, the way he clutched the frame of the door for support. "Are you drunk?" she asked eventually. She smelled no alcohol on him, but she knew what to look for, was familiar with the signs. She couldn't recall ever seeing him drunk, or even tipsy; he avoided that around her, even though it didn't bother her.

He sighed and shifted his weight to his other foot. "I was four hours ago," he admitted. "Now I'm just hungover."

She looked at him more closely. _Has he even been home tonight?_ His hair was wet from the rain, his black t-shirt damp and slightly rumpled.

"Okay." She shook her head to chase the cobwebs of sleep away. "It's three in the morning and I only just fell asleep. You better have a damn good reason for being here."

"Can I come in?" he asked, gesturing past her.

Mac shrugged, feeling uncomfortable; suddenly she was acutely aware that she kimono she'd put on barely reached to her thighs. _Get a grip, Mac_, she told herself as she stepped aside to let him it, closing the door behind him. _What do you think he's going to do?_

Harm stood in the middle of her living room, uncertain. The look on his face confused her; normally, she could read him like a book, but not tonight.

For a moment, their eyes met. Then his gaze dropped to her bare legs, slowly traveling up.

She shifted uncomfortably, drawing the silk tighter around her, not quite meeting his eyes when they settled on her face again.

"You're beautiful," he said quietly.

She started to say something without knowing what. She felt his eyes burn into her. "Don't," she said, her mouth dry. "Whatever it is you're trying to do, just don't. Go home, get some sleep." She didn't have the energy to deal with this right now. Turning, she started towards her bedroom, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she found he hadn't moved.

He just looked at her, the way he so often looked at her, and her breath caught in her throat, a rush of warmth spreading through her. He closed what little distance there was between them in a single stride. She couldn't move. A warning rang out in her mind—_don't don't don't_—but then he grasped her arms, and her thoughts fractured.

One touch.

Just one simple touch.

But there was nothing simple about his touch.

Or about _them_.

She swallowed, not daring to look up and meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see in them. She fought the urge to step closer and turn this into a proper embrace. His scent swirled around her, that mix of aftershave and sweat and _him_, and despite herself, she drew it deep into her lungs, letting it cloud her mind.

Slowly, so slowly, his hand slid up her arm, over the curve of her shoulder and up the side of her neck before cupping her face. Her breath came in quick, ragged gasps, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had to tell him to stop. She had to tell him to leave before they did something they'd both regret later.

Suddenly, it was clear to her why he had come here tonight, and although she had dared him to choose between her and his girlfriend, now that he was here, touching her, she realised that she wasn't ready. That she couldn't do this when she still wasn't over her last relationship, and the way it had ended. And no matter what he claimed—he _was_ drunk. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he held himself and moved. When he woke beside her in the morning, he'd back out because that was what he always did, and she couldn't handle being rejected like that. She couldn't do that to herself. Not now, not ever.

She could wait, _would_ wait, because she couldn't change the way she felt about him, but she needed him to be ready, needed him to want this as much as she did. Otherwise, their relationship was doomed to fail.

But _she_ needed to be ready too.

She grasped his hand to lift it away from her face.

Lowering his head, he rested his forehead to hers. "If you want me to leave, I will," he said huskily. She felt his heart pound in his chest; it matched the staccato rhythm of her own heart. He wound his fingers in her hair, holding her to him. "You just have to say it."

He was so close. Close enough to touch. To kiss.

_Leave_, she thought, but the words stuck in her throat. This was a mistake. They couldn't do this.

And yet…

Their lips were almost touching. His hand was hot on her cheek, his warmth burning through her skin and spilling into her, setting her ablaze. She raised her hand, trailing her fingers along the edge of his jaw, his skin rough under her fingertips.

"Just say it." A quiet, gentle whisper.

_Leave_.

One word, and he'd leave.

One word, and she'd still be able to look at herself in the mirror once morning arrived.

One word.

But she couldn't say it.

She rose to her toes and covered his mouth with hers.

The kiss was sweet and soft and gentle.

When he broke away, he met her eyes; he searched her face, looking for something, and he seemed to find it. Cupping her face with both hands, he kissed her again, sucking, licking and nipping at her lower lip, and exploring her mouth with his tongue. Looping her arm around his waist, she pulled him closer; she couldn't wrap her head around the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her face, the hardness of his body.

He slid the kimono over her shoulders, the silk slipping easily over her skin. Tangling his hand in her hair, he gently tilted her head and moved his lips over her pulse, his teeth grazing her skin.

Heat exploded in the centre of her body that was somehow hardwired to the sensitive skin of her neck, and she moaned softly.

He pulled away, his gaze locked with hers.

_Leave_.

But she couldn't tell him. Didn't want to tell him.

So she grasped his hands and pulled him with her.


	4. Chapter 2 2

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

II

As they crossed the threshold to her bedroom, Mac knew that they'd also crossed a line. It wasn't too late to stop, but it was too late for things to return to the way they'd been before.

There was no going back.

Releasing him, she stepped back until she came up against the frame of her bed, sliding the straps of her camisole over her shoulders as she went. The intensity of his gaze as he watched it slip down her body made her blush. Mac wasn't shy; she enjoyed men looking at her appreciatively, in the bedroom at least, but for some reason she was now, and she lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her arms by her side.

_This is awkward._

They'd been friends long before they'd become what they were now, and the shift had come so suddenly that she didn't know how to cross that barrier from friends to lovers.

_Come on, Mac, it's really not that complicated._

Her lips curved into a tiny smile.

No, it wasn't complicated at all.

Closing the distance between them, he locked his arms around her waist to pull her against his chest.

She looked up. She had never noticed how many different shades made up the colour of his eyes—blue like the sky on a sunny day and grey like the storm-tossed sea.

_How fitting._

She ran her thumb over his lips, and he closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, his grip on her tightening. She kissed the corner of his mouth, his skin deliciously rough under her lips. As she pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, he growled. The sound made the hairs on the back of her neck rise and her heart speed up.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he obligingly lifted up his arms so that she could pull it over his head. Dropping it to the floor, she reached out for his chest, then hesitated.

_This isn't real, is it?_

It felt surreal. They'd fought this for so long; now that they'd surrendered to the inevitable, she couldn't quite wrap her head around it. Part of her wanted this to be a dream because if it was, then there'd be no consequences, and no pain when it fell apart. But she knew it wasn't; she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his scent, hear is even breathing.

It wasn't a dream.

And although she was aware that there _would_ be consequences, that there there might be pain, she didn't want to stop.

She couldn't stop.

She placed her palms on his chest, and he sighed quietly as he touched his forehead to hers. She traced the lines of the muscles under his skin as he held her, one hand on the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. He let her touch him, let her explore his body. Every now and then, his lips sought hers in a gentle kiss, but he didn't rush her.

He wanted to savour the moment, just like she did.

With a soft clinking sound, his belt came undone. Her thumb brushed over the button of his jeans; it was cold against her flushed skin. As she reached down his jeans and closed her hand around him, her stomach coiled in anticipation.

Steel wrapped in silk.

A shudder ran through him and he growled into her mouth, his fingers dipping into her back.

_Inside her, moving with strong, slow strokes._

Her heart jumped erratically.

Her skin suddenly felt too tight for her body.

She wanted him inside her.

Needed him inside her.

Now.

She wrenched his jeans over his hips along with his briefs. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of them, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as she let her gaze wander over his body. Again, she felt that flush of inexplicable, ridiculous embarrassment. It wasn't like she'd never imagined him naked—because, Gold help her, she had!—or seen him wearing little more than his underwear. But this was different.

They were so close already, as close as two people could possibly be. He knew her better than anyone, just as there were things about him that he'd never told anyone but her. And yet right now she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Like she didn't know him at all.

And she didn't. Not like this. Didn't know what he liked, what he enjoyed.

_You'll find out_.

Would she? Would she get the chance? Or was tonight all she'd ever have with him?

_Don't think about that now._

She took his hands and pulled him towards her.

They tumbled onto the bed.

His arms came down on either side of her face as he pinned her down with his weight, his arousal pressing into her. One hand curved around her breast, possessive, demanding. He cupped her face with the other, rubbing his thumb over her lips before covering her mouth with his. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. He slid his hand down her side, tickling her thigh.

She smiled.

For a moment, he pulled away to meet her gaze, laughter in his eyes.

Sitting back, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her panties and pulled them off. She parted her legs, and he settled between them, slowly pushing into her. His eyes were on her face, watching her intently. She held her breath as he slid inside her inch by inch, her heart jumping in her chest, skipping every other beat and making her light-headed.

He pulled out, then thrusted into her again, burying himself deep inside her.

She moaned.

Interlacing his fingers with hers, he lifted her arms over her head, gently pinning them there as he began to move. Her eyes fluttered shut as she arched her hips to meet his. His strokes were slow, deliberate, and she could already feel the pleasure ripple through her body, the sweet, delicious tension building inside her close to peaking.

One last, deep thrust.

She fractured around him and buried her face in his shoulder. Releasing her arms, he wound his fingers into her hair, gently drawing her head back. His eyes were on her face as her climax swept over her, watching her, just watching her. Then he started moving again, in long, deep thrusts that threatened to tumble her mind into chaos once more.

A second wave of pleasure crashed over her, and she threw her arms around him, holding on to him as it pulled her under. He crushed her lips to hers and, with one last stroke, followed her over the edge.

test


	5. Chapter 2 3

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

III

Outside her window, morning was breaking.

Mac turned onto her side. Reaching across the space between her and Harm, she took his hand. Sliding his fingers into hers, he raised her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. Behind him, the sky faded from black to blue. The curtains swayed gently in the breeze, the fresh morning air cool against her skin.

Neither of them spoke.

Mac didn't know what to say, and for now she was happy to just lie here and hold his hand. She didn't want the bubble to burst yet, and burst it would.

It always did.

Sleep was already tugging at her, and she struggled to stay awake; she didn't want to close her eyes, afraid that when she opened them again, Harm would be gone. A lump formed in her throat at the thought. She turned away from his gaze; she didn't want him to see the anguish in her face.

She didn't want him to feel guilty.

She'd known what she was doing. She could have told him to leave—_should_ have told him to leave—and she knew he would have because he'd never make her do something she didn't want a hundred per cent. But she hadn't and now she'd have to face the consequences of her actions. Mac knew that, but she also knew that she wasn't really for it—for the possibility of losing him over this.

_Don't you think it's a bit late to start worrying about that now?_

He'd started it, but she could have ended it, and there'd be nobody to blame for her pain but her. Her heart constricted. She didn't want to be alone when she woke, didn't want to lie between the cold sheets that smelled of him.

Why had he even come last night? What had made him show up on her doorstep at three in the morning? She didn't believe it was just because he'd had too much to drink.

He wasn't like that.

_Ask him!_

But she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

_Then don't think about it now. Just pretend it's going to be fine._

Yes, she'd pretend.

Pretend he'd still be here when she woke up.

Just for a little while.

And with that, she closed her eyes, surrendering to oblivion, her hand still firmly intertwined with his.


	6. Chapter 3 1

_****_**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

_C_HAPTER THREE

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding_

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding_

_There are many things that I would like to say to you_

_But I don't know how_

Wonderwall, Oasis

* * *

I

Light slanted across Harm's face, waking him.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

_What time is it?_

A headache throbbed behind his left temple.

Well, no surprise there.

For a moment, he just lay there, looking at the ceiling of Mac's bedroom. Her hand was still in his, warm and soft. He turned his head. She lay on her side, her arm tucked under her head, her hair tousled. She was frowning in her sleep, and he wondered what she was dreaming. Pleasant dreams, he hoped. Carefully so he wouldn't wake her, he rolled on his side and brushed a strand of her away from her forehead. She barely stirred and murmured something under her breath, too soft for him to make out. However, her hold on his hand tightened, and he smiled.

Even asleep she was aware that he was here.

Coming here last night, all he'd wanted to was talk. They'd never really talked, had never broached the subject they should have discussed a long, long time ago. He certainly hadn't planned on seducing her. But the moment he'd laid eyes on her, his mind had gone blank, wiped clean like a slate. All he'd been able to think about was that he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

As she'd led him into her bedroom, he'd known that this wasn't a good idea, that there was a very good chance he'd regret this in the morning.

Morning had arrived.

But no regrets.

For once, he was ready to face the consequences of his actions.

For once, the uncertain didn't scare him.

All he had to do was look at Mac, and he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he couldn't go back to the way things were before. To just being friends and nothing more. He wouldn't pretend last night hadn't happened, like they'd pretended that they'd never kissed on the the porch, that night at her engagement party.

They'd perfected the art of pretending, of pushing unpleasant things away, of postponing dealing with things they thought they weren't ready for.

_Not anymore_, he thought.

First, he needed to take care of his headache though.

Carefully, he slipped his hand out of Mac's grip. Getting out of bed, he tried to locate his clothes. He wasn't used to waking up somewhere else; usually, he took women to his place, where he felt more comfortable.

Where, he realised somewhat resigned, he was in control.

"Harm?"

He turned. Mac was sitting in bed, clutching the blanket to her chest. She was staring at him, and he saw something flicker in her eyes that shouldn't have been there.

Fear.

And he realised with a shock that she thought he was leaving. As he looked at her, meeting her anxious gaze, he felt like someone had doused him in ice water.

_How can she think I'd do that?_

But was it really that much of a surprise? He'd pushed her away so many times that he could hardly blame her for thinking he'd do so again.

Still, did she really believe he cared about her so little that he'd use her like this? That he'd hurt her like this? That he'd sleep with her—make love to her—and then sneak out in the morning and pretend it had never happened?

Again, why was he so surprised?

She was still hurting. Still in pain. She was trying to hide it—from him as well as everyone else—but he could still see it, and every time he caught a glimpse of it in her face, in her eyes, it tore at his heart. He wasn't exactly innocent. He knew that. So he could hardly blame her for being scared. For believing he'd reject her.

Because deep down, below the surface of the tough Marine, she was still the little girl that had been abandoned by her mother, that found it hard to trust, hard to love. Hard to believe she deserved to _be _loved.

"Hey," he said softly.

A hesitant smile. "Hey yourself."

At some point last night they'd opened the window, and the morning breeze ruffled her hair. She tucked an errant strand behind her ear.

"Do you have aspirin?"

This clearly wasn't what she had expected. For a moment, she just looked at him, then the tension drained from her rigid shoulders, and she sat slowly back against the headboard. "Medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

When he returned, she hadn't moved.

"Still hungover?" she asked quietly as he climbed back into bed, settling beside her. He didn't take her into his arms; something about the way she held herself—her spine straight, her body angled slightly away from him—made him think that she didn't want to be touched right now.

"Yeah." Harm sighed. "What time is it?"

"Eight thirty-six."

It was Saturday, and he was grateful that he didn't have to go to work today. He wouldn't leave until they'd talked through what they should have talked about years ago.

"Why did you come here last night?"

Surprised, he looked at her; he was still grappling for the right words.

Apparently, she wanted to cut right to the chase.

"To talk," he replied quietly.

Mac lifted an eyebrow at him. "To talk?"

It was clear that she didn't believe him.

"Yes." He reached for her hand, expecting her to pull away, but she let him take it. Compared to his, her hand was so small and delicate and fragile. These weren't attributes he'd ever apply to Mac, and yet right now there was something so vulnerable about her that he feared the wrong word would shatter her as easily as hand-blown glass.

On the drive to her apartment, he'd thought about what he would say, how to put his feelings into words, but he couldn't remember them now.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually because he didn't know how else to start, and because it was true. He _was_ sorry.

For a lot of things.

Mac frowned. "For what?"

"For yesterday. For insulting you. For yelling at you."

She shook her head. "You don't have to apologise. We both could have handled that… situation better. I never should have said the things I said. I'm sorry."

He smiled. "You don't have to apologise," he replied. "Besides," he added lightly, "I've been called worse, and it's not like you were wrong. I am arrogant. And sometimes a bastard."

That made her laugh, and his heart leapt at the sound.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her laugh.

"And I'm sorry for pushing you away. For not being there for you when you needed me."

"Harm, don't." She squeezed his hand. "I was the one who ran."

Mac didn't look at him as she said this, and he knew how hard it was for her to admit that she had run. She didn't want to be weak.

"You needed space," he replied. "I understand that."

"You always do," she whispered. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his cheek. "Where are we supposed to go from here?"

He kissed her forehead. "I've been thinking about something Sturgis said last night."

"You were out with Sturgis?" Apprehensive.

"No," he corrected, "I was out alone. He just happened to be there."

"What was is that he said?" she asked, hesitant.

"I think you know," he said softly.

"He promised not to tell." A whisper.

"Don't be mad at him. He wanted to help. He doesn't want us to be miserable."

Mac was silent for a long time.

"I'm not mad," she whispered eventually. "I'm glad you know."

"I always have, I guess. And you know how I feel about you."

"Do I?" Their eyes met.

"Why do you need to hear me say it?" Why wasn't it enough that he let his actions speak?

"Because I'm tired of reading your mind, Harm." Frustrated. "I want certainty. I want to know where we stand." Her voice softened. "We slept together. That changes things."

"I know." Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. So soft and warm. She settled against his side, her hand on his chest, and he pressed his lips to that sensitive spot behind her ear.

She sighed and leaned into his embrace, fitting to his frame perfectly like they were made for each other, corresponding pieces of a puzzle.

"But I still want you," Harm said quietly. "That hasn't changed."

Mac looked up, her brown eyes soft. "You've never told me. All I ever wanted was to hear you say it."

"I know," he said again as he ran his hand slowly up her arm. Part of him still found it surreal that he got to touch her like this when yesterday she wouldn't even let him put his hand on her shoulder.

"But you couldn't because you were scared."

Resting his head on the curve between her neck and shoulder, he inhaled her scent, drawing it deep into his lungs. "Yes," he said eventually, his voice quiet. "I was scared. Of screwing this up. Of losing you."

_Of losing myself._

"So you pushed me away?" she asked, dubious.

He sighed. "It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"No," she replied after a moment. "No, it does, I guess. But I don't understand what's changed since yesterday. We're still who we've always been."

_It might be worth the risk._

"Let's just say that Sturgis talked some sense into me last night."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"You won't wait for me forever," he said. "Eventually you'll decide you've had enough and move on. That's what he said."

She huffed. "Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time."

"Mac…"

"No." She shook her head. "I should have waited. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe subconsciously I hoped that if you realised Mic and I were serious, you'd…" She trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

_Hoped what? That I'd get jealous and break them up?_

He'd never once considered that. He wasn't that kind of person.

Which didn't mean that he hadn't been jealous. God knew he had been.

"I thought he was what you wanted."

The smile she gave him was sad. "I thought so, too." Turning in his arms, she kissed him. It wasn't a proper kiss—she merely brushed her lips over his—but no less intimate than all the previous kisses they had shared, and a jolt of electricity shot down his spine. When she pulled away, she sighed and hid her face in his shoulder, her breath warm on his skin.

"I want to make this work, Mac," he said quietly.

"I want that too."

test


	7. Chapter 3 2

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

II

He kissed the back of her neck, and she sighed in contentment, closing her eyes as she tilted her head and exposed the curve between her neck and shoulder for him to kiss. She was so beautiful. Perfect. Soft. Warm. He trailed kisses over her shoulder and down her back, his hand closing over the swell of her breast.

She moaned softly.

"Any plans for today?" As his breath kissed her bare back, a shiver ran through her. Her heart fluttered against his palm.

"Not really," she whispered. "Breakfast at some point."

He moved his hand to her thigh, tracing circular patterns with his thumb. He felt her pulse speed up, her heart jumping erratically. "Later?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Later."

Nudging her to her knees, he settled his hand on her hips. She was ready for him, and he slid her down on him, her breath quickening, a low moan on her lips. Clutching the headboard for support, she held very still as he kissed her neck, his mind barely able to process how hot and tight and wet she was around him. Then she pushed herself down on him. He groaned, his entire body clenching as she took him inside her even deeper. He cupped her breasts and pressed her against his chest as he moved his hips.

Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more erotic. His mind fogged over and reality slipped away, her body wrapped around his, her soft moans the only thing that grounded him. He couldn't imagine ever growing tired of this—of touching her, of making love to her. She fit to him so perfectly, like in his arms was where she belonged.

Like this was meant to be.

Did she feel the same way?

As he whispered her name, her eyes fluttered open.

She met his gaze, her eyes glazed over. He covered her mouth with his and slid his hand to her hip, guiding her as she moved on him impatiently, pushing herself down on him hard, fast. Snaking his hand between her legs, his fingers catching in the soft curls, he found that little bundle of nerves.

She gasped at the unexpected sensation, and a shudder went through her. Moulding her body into his frame, she deepened the kiss, her tongue dancing with his.

He nearly came undone.

Reality began to fracture. One last flick of his thumb, and she came around him, head thrown back in pleasure. He didn't last much longer. He lifted her off him. Slid her back down. Once. Twice. Then his climax swept over him like a tidal wave and his world exploded in a burst of light.


	8. Chapter 3 3

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

III

As Harm returned to the bedroom with two steaming mugs of coffee, Mac was just finishing getting dressed. With a smile, he watched as she smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her white cotton shirt and picked up the brush from her dresser. Their eyes met in the mirror in front of her, and her lips curved into a smile as she saw him standing there.

She seemed different to him this morning. Perhaps this was simply because she'd smiled at him more often in the last two hours than in the last two months. Perhaps it was because the tension between them was gone now, replaced by a feeling of deep contentment. Either way, he was happy, even though he still had trouble believing how monumentally their relationship had changed within the last twenty-four hours. He was surprised at how natural it felt to him to be here, watching her get dressed. There was none of that awkwardness he remembered from other relationships.

Then again, why should there be? He already knew her so well, had seen her at her best and at her worst.

"Thanks," she said as he handed her the cup. She took a sip, then put it down. When she looked up again, she was frowning, and there was something about her expression that instantly worried him.

"What is it?" he asked softly, putting down his own cup and looping his arm around her waist.

"Nothing," Mac said. "Nothing. It's just…" She hook her head and turned in his embrace, placing her hands on his chest. "This still feels like a dream to me, and I can't help thinking that any moment now I'll wake up and you'll be gone and I…" She trailed off.

And she'd be alone.

Cupping her face, he ran his thumb over her cheek. With a quiet sigh, she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Do you want me to prove to you that you're awake?" he whispered. He brought his mouth to hers for a kiss, sucking lightly at her bottom lip.

Laughing quietly, she leaned back in his arms to meet his eyes. "Later perhaps. I need food first."

"We can go get my car and then go to my place afterwards," Harm suggested, glad that the clouds that had moved in briefly had already dispersed. "I'll make you an early lunch."

"Somehow I doubt that lunch is all you have in mind," she replied teasingly.

He grinned at her. "A shower would be nice too."

"You're impossible," Mac said.

"So I've been told." Gently, he lifted up her chin. "But I like touching you." His hand slid down the side of her neck, over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. "And kissing you." A quick brush of his lips on hers. "And making love to you." He kissed that spot behind her ear, and her breath hitched, her hands curling into his t-shirt. He held her tight against him. "Am I still impossible?"

She glanced up, her lips twitching ever so slightly. She was trying not to laugh. "Yes," she told him and rose to her toes to kiss him.


	9. Chapter 4 1

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**_  
_

* * *

_C_HAPTER FOUR

_I said maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_And after all_

_You're my wonderwall_

Wonderwall, Oasis

* * *

I

"You said something about an early lunch?" Mac said as she stepped past Harm into his apartment. She'd been here so many times and he'd cooked for her more often than she could count, but she'd only ever been his friend and colleague. This was different, and she still felt a little dazed at how quickly things had changed. This time yesterday they'd argued. Now the issue was suddenly resolved—or seemed to be, anyway—and she couldn't quite believe it. Only seven hours and fourteen minutes had passed since he showed up on her doorstep, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

She heard him laugh quietly behind her and turned.

Closing the door, Harm tossed his jacket over the back of his desk chair. "Give me five minutes," he said as he walked up to her. "I want that shower first, if you don't mind." He lifted an eyebrow at her suggestively. "You're welcome to join."

Mac laughed. "You're impossible."

"I believe you already said that."

She let him tug her to his bedroom and watched as he pulled his shirt over his head. She liked looking at him, and now it was finally okay for her to look at him appreciatively. Her heart leapt at the thought. She no longer had to hide her feelings, no longer had to pretend that everything was fine.

"What?" he asked when he turned, and she wondered what he saw in her face.

Smiling, she reached out for him, and he obligingly stepped into her arms. "I'm happy," she whispered into his shoulder.

His arms closed around her. "I'm happy too." His hands found their way under her shirt, and she leaned into his touch. She loved how rough his calloused hands felt against her skin. He moved them up and down her back in long, languid strokes, and she sighed in contentment.

"I remember how to undress myself," she said when he grasped the them of her shirt. Looking down, she watched as he lifted it up, revealing the skin underneath. Such strong, tender hands. And he was good with them.

That, she had found out this morning.

She shirt slid up another inch. "I know," he replied, amused. "But," he lifted up her chin with his free hand, meeting her gaze, "I like undressing you." His breath was hot on her face, his lips so close. Cupping the back of his neck, she pulled him down for a kiss.

His hand paused in its task and slid up, curving around her breast.

She moaned into his mouth.

"I like you undressing me," she whispered when she pulled away for air.

"Yeah?" He captured her mouth again, sucking and nibbling gently at her lower lip.

"Yes." She wound her fingers in his hair. "I thought you said something about a shower?"

He pulled the shirt over her head, skimming his hands along her sides without quite touching her. Feeling the warmth of his almost-touch made a shiver run down her spine, and her stomach tightened. She couldn't imagine ever getting enough of this. Reaching behind her back, she undid the clasp of her bra and slid the straps off her shoulders.

"In a hurry, are we?" he teased as she reached for his shirt and started pulling it up. He let her take it off, crushing her against his naked chest the moment it was gone.

It felt so good to be held like this, to be this close to him.

She moved her mouth over his pulse, sucking, nipping and licking.

He groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He fumbled with the zipper of her jeans, an impatient growl in his throat, then he slipped them down along with her panties, slowly running his hands up her legs when they were gone. Their eyes met, and the intensity of his gaze sent a rush of warmth through her body.

"We're not going to make it to the shower, are we?" she asked huskily.

In response, he took her by the hand and led her into his bathroom, only letting go of her to get rid of his jeans. The water that splashed down on her was freezing. She gasped, but it had barely time to register because he was all over her again, doing things to her body that her mind couldn't process. He spun her around, and she put her hands against the tiles, moaning and whimpering as his hand moved to her stomach, dipping lower and drawing teasing patterns on the inside of her thigh.

He rubbed his thumb over her already slick folds, and her breath caught in her throat.

She was ready for him.

She wanted him.

Now.

Slowly, teasingly, teasingly slowly, he thrust two fingers into her, flicking his thumb against her most sensitive spot.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the sensation spreading through her body, on the liquid fire burning away through her veins. As she pushed back against him, he curved his arm around her and found her breast, grasping her nipple between his fingers.

The release crashed over her unexpectedly.

It tore through her, wrenching her out of reality. He held her as she clenched around his fingers, continuing to stroke her, coaxing her towards another release. Electricity sizzled through her body, setting every nerve ending ablaze. A touch. A stroke.

She fell over the edge, and sank back against him, her legs trembling, refusing to carry her weight,

He caught her, held her, as she gave herself over to the wave of pleasure.

"See?" he whispered into her ear. "We did make it into the shower."

Remembering how to move, she turned and hugged herself to him, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sliding his hand under her knee, he lifted up her leg. Slowly, he pushed her back until she came up against the tiles, the water rushing over her skin.

She felt him brush against her entrance.

Covering her mouth with his in a kiss that took her breath away, he buried himself inside her.


	10. Chapter 4 2

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

II

Afterwards, the lay on his bed arm in arm, still wet from the shower. Shivering, Mac pulled the towel up and rolled onto her side, draping her arm over Harm's chest. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't asleep.

"You still owe me lunch," she whispered, touching her fingers to his lips. She felt like every bone inside her body had melted, and she was sore, but she didn't care. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way.

The last time she'd been this happy.

Eyes still closed, he smiled. "I haven't forgotten."

She poked him in the side. "You can't wear me out like that and not feed me, Commander."

With a fake sigh of exasperation, he sat up and brushed a strand of wet hair away from her forehead. He looked at her like he so often looked at her, like she was the centre of his universe, and she smiled, reaching out to curve her hand around his cheek.

Because she was.

Mac watched as he got dressed. The way the muscles flexed under his skin as he pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head made her mouth go dry. _Christ, Mac, you're not sixteen anymore_, she reminded herself. She was no hormone-ridden teenager. She was an adult, for crying out loud, and should behave accordingly.

But she couldn't seem to help herself. She wanted him to hold her. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted him to make love to her. She'd been starving for his touch for so long that she felt she had to make up for it now.

_While it lasts…_

Mac didn't know where that thought had come from, but suddenly it was there, accompanied by a feeling of dread that knotted her stomach.

She sat up straight.

Would it last? Or was she just kidding herself? She wanted to believe him, but she knew him too well, and she knew he couldn't commit. Why should she be any difference? No matter how much he wanted this, no matter how much _he_ believed they could make this work, there was a chance—a very good chance—that this would fall apart, and once the dust had settled they'd both be alone. Broken. And every touch, every kiss, every embrace they had shared in the past eight hours would forever remind her of what she'd lost. Of what she could never have.

She didn't want this pain. She should end this before she was sucked into it even deeper. She had deluded herself into thinking the issue was resolved, but it wasn't. Not this quickly. And she shouldn't have slept with him because this thing between them had never been about sex. The connection they shared ran deeper than that, and if anything, welcoming him into her body had intensified it. Intensified it so much that it scared her a little because she knew that if he rejected her now, it would hurt. Really hurt. And the part of her that had been hurt—that was still hurting—couldn't take any more. She'd shatter like glass and she didn't want that. She didn't want to be hurting anymore, didn't want to suffer any longer.

She just wanted to be happy.

"What's wrong?" Harm asked. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand into his.

How did he do that? How did he always know when she was scared? When she was sad? When she was desperate? No matter how hard she tried to hide her feelings, he always knew. He could read her like a book.

Just like she could read him.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, and Mac could tell that he was worried.

Still, she was tempted to say 'nothing'. To just go with it for now and enjoy the moment, consequences be damned. But she knew that if she did that and was alone later, his touch no more than a faint imprint on her skin, an elusive memory, it would kill her, all the pieces of her that she still hadn't put completely back together coming apart again, breaking into so many fragments that they'd be impossible to mend.

Honesty. This could never work if they weren't completely and brutally honest with each other.

"What if you change your mind?" she asked bluntly. "If you decide that you're not ready for this?"

He stilled, his grey eyes intently studying her face. Then his expression softened, and he tightened his grip on her hand, like he wanted to assure her that he'd never let her go again. Again, he'd read her, the fear in her eyes that others would never have noticed so obvious to him. He knew that deep inside that tough Marine lieutenant colonel there was a little girl, who was terrified of being abandoned. Of being all alone.

"I won't," he said softly. "I can't. I don't think that after today I can go back to how things were before."

Mac was silent.

"You don't believe me," Harm said quietly.

Her gaze dropped to his chest, away from his face. "I want to," she whispered. "I do. But every time I think there might be a chance for us, something comes up." She was thinking of the day Mic had left her, of returning to Harm's apartment to seek comfort and finding that Renée was there.

"When you came back that night," he said, thinking of the same day, "I wanted you to stay. I wanted to be there for you. But then Renée showed up and was upset because her father had just died, and I couldn't send her away. It would have been cruel."

"I know," Mac replied. "I know that. And I'm not mad at you anymore. I wanted to blame you for everything that's happened, but truth is that it was my fault. What I said on the LHA…" She shook her head. "I was out of line. Way out of line. I can't blame others for my bad decisions."

"You do realise that if I hadn't pushed you away, none of this ever would have happened?" Quiet. Serious.

Mac didn't blame him for what had happened, but she suddenly realised, with a shock, that he blamed himself. Looking up, she met his eyes. She recognised the pain she saw there, and it tore through her like a knife. She didn't want him to be hurting because of her. "It's not your fault."

"We both know that it is," he replied, bitterness edging his voice.

"That's not true, Harm." But even as she said it, she knew that she wouldn't be able to convince him that there was no one to blame but her.

"I hurt you," he said. "And I don't ever want to hurt you again. I want to be with you, Mac. I want _you_." For a moment, she thought he wanted to say something else—there was a brief pause, and his brow furrowed for a second before his expression smoothed out again—but he didn't. He just watched her, waiting for her response, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of her hand.

"I know," she said eventually. "I know that you do. And I want you too. I'm just scared… Of getting hurt again. Of being alone." She'd never admitted this to anyone, not even to Harm. But he already knew. Had always known. "And sometimes it feels like fate conspires to keep us apart, no matter how much we want to be together."

"Then I guess we'll just have to find a way to beat fate," he replied, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Come here." He gathered her into his arms. "I know this isn't going to be easy." He huffed. "Nothing we ever do is easy. But what do we have to lose?"

It struck her then that without her noticing their positions had reversed. How strange that suddenly he was the one trying to convince her to give a relationship a try!

"You're right." She kissed him, a soft, sweet, brief kiss. "You're right. We have nothing to lose."

_A leap of faith._ That's what she had to take. A leap of faith. Perhaps it didn't work out, and there would be pain and tears if it didn't. But perhaps it did, and how would she ever find out if she didn't at least try? She'd been so furious with Harm for refusing to take a risk. A leap of faith. Now that it was her turn, it terrified her. But if she ended this now, things would never be the same between them. Their friendship wouldn't survive. Of that she was absolutely certain.

There was no going back. And nothing to lose.


	11. Chapter 4 3

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

* * *

III

Mac slept dreamlessly for the first time in months.

When Harm nudged her awake, it was past ten in the evening. She blinked up at him, dazed. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but she must have; her head was on his lap, her feet propped up on the arm of the couch.

"Hey," she said drowsily, rubbing her eyes. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

He shrugged. "I like watching you sleep. And you looked like you could use it."

Slowly, she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, snuggling against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, his hand on her hip. After making her the promised lunch, they'd had a lazy afternoon, talking about everything and nothing. They'd ordered pizza for dinner, and she recalled finishing her side of it—then nothing. She felt better than she had in weeks, months really.

"Yeah," she murmured. "You're probably right." She buried her face in his shoulder, drawing his scent into her lungs.

_So good_.

"I hope I didn't drool on your lap."

He chuckled. "Just a little. It was adorable."

Mac smacked his chest, smiling.

"You know what?" he said, in a soft voice. "I can't remember when I last saw you smile before today."

"I didn't have a lot of things worth smiling for," she whispered. She slid her hand under his shirt, placing her palm over his heart. She didn't know why she loved the feeling of his heart beating against her hand so much. She found the steady, never-ceasing _thu-thud thu-thud thu-thud _soothing.

"I know." Lifting up her chin, he kissed her. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she reminded him. "It's mine. I should have given you more time." Some things, she knew now, were worth waiting for.

"I pushed you away," Harm said softly. "And you were right. I had no right to ask you to wait for me forever." He ran his fingers through her hair. "I thought you were happy. I thought you'd moved on. I thought he was what you wanted."

She'd thought so too. She'd wanted to believe that she was in love with him. Perhaps she had been. But she'd never felt about him the way she felt about Harm, and she should have ended it when she realised that she wouldn't be able to let go. And she had realised that, very early on. But she'd refused to accept it and so she'd pushed it away, pretending that she didn't have feelings for another man.

"If I hadn't crashed, would you've gone through with it?"

And there it was. The question she'd asked herself a million times.

Mac dropped her gaze. "I don't know," she whispered. "Probably. But I don't think it would have lasted." The only reason she'd accepted his ring was because she'd known he'd walk out on her if she didn't. _I didn't want to be alone._ That wasn't the right reason for marrying someone, but she'd been afraid that if she let him go, she'd never be able to move on.

Harm didn't reply. He simply held her, stroking her head, and she let her thoughts drift. She didn't want to think about this now. She wanted to enjoy the moment, revel in what she had gained. This was no time for regrets.

She closed her eyes, the warmths of his embrace making her drowsy.

It had been a long day.

"Let's go to bed," she heard him say, his voice coming from far away.

He scooped her up and cradled her against his chest, carrying her to his bedroom and setting her down on the bed. She struggled to get her jeans and shirt off and by the time she had finished, he'd already crawled into bed beside her. She pressed against his warm body as he snaked his arms around her, his breath warm on the back of her neck.

"Mac?" he said quietly as he switched off the light, and for once the darkness that enveloped her wasn't the lonely darkness of her bedroom.

"What?" Sleepily.

For a moment, he was silent. Then he brought his lips to her ear. "I love you."

It was no more than a whisper, but she'd heard. She turned and slid her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, her heart suddenly to small to contain the hurricane of emotions within. "I love you too."


End file.
